


Colors

by airam06



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Gore, Illness, M/M, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:38:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2773289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airam06/pseuds/airam06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is terribly, horribly wrong. Dean can feel it in every inch of existence. And once he discovers what it is, it sets in motion a chain of events that leads to something more horrible than Dean could have ever imagined. Some things, it turns out, are much more terrifying than monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colors

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first angst fic. I normally write happy stories, but this was a challenge on tumblr, so I decided to give it a go. Honestly, it hurt much worse than I expected. I'd love to hear from you though, and I respond to all comments!

Something was terribly wrong. 

Dean and Cas sat in their decrepit motel room, surrounded by yellowing wallpaper and crusty, ancient carpet worn out from decades of use by hookers and weary motel guests, and finally, Dean could take the silence no more.

“He should have been back by now,” Dean said, foot tapping nervously at the worn wooden table leg. “The diner is only a block from here.”

“We can go look for him,” Cas replied, deeply interested in the television show onscreen. “Dean, I have been to the Jersey shore, and I do not recall it being like this.”

Dean was momentarily distracted as some of the characters stumbled about drunk onscreen.

“I’m going to go check on him.”

“Your brother is a highly capable hunter. But if you are worried, I can check on him. Allow me,” Cas said, and he was suddenly gone in a puff of air and the sound of wings.

Dean stood, and began pacing the floor. He could feel it, the wrongness, deep in his bones. It was something more tangible than a gut feeling when Sam was in danger; this was much worse. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but a hunter’s instincts were rarely off; the air felt stale, the atmosphere charged. The very world felt broken. On the small television, two girls argued over a tanned, muscular boy in basketball shorts.

“Dean,” Cas said when he appeared in the room a moment later, clutching a greasy brown bag in his hand.

It only took a glance at Cas’ face, and Dean had crossed the room in two strides. Silently, Cas held up the bag, to which a jarring white note was taped.

_Dean,_  
_Enjoy the burgers. I have something even more delicious. I left you a sample._  
_-A_  
_P.S. Come find me, Dean Skywalker…you’re his only hope._

Dean tore the bag open, and emptied it onto the bed’s stiff comforter. Two wrapped burgers tumbled out, along with a wadded up napkin, stained a deep, heart-stopping red. Dean’s chest gave a terrified lurch, and he carefully peeled open the sticky napkin, dread coursing through his veins like ice. Inside, cut out jagged and hurriedly, was Sam’s anti-possession tattoo.

“Fuck!” Dean swore loudly, and he threw the hunk of meat onto the bed in disgust.

He clutched at his hair, breathing labored. They had Sam. Abaddon. It had to be Abaddon. He paced the room like a lion in a cage, full of adrenaline and with no idea on what to do next.

“Dean,” Cas repeated his name in a quiet voice.

Dean kicked a chair over next to the bed. It did little to calm his nerves. If he could just think, if it were only quiet for one damn second, he just needed some time to think, to plan, and where was that _noise_ coming from?

He punched the television hard enough to shatter the glass before shoving the entire thing off the side of the dresser. It crashed to the floor. Silence filled the room, and Dean collapsed down onto the bed, covering his face with his hands.

Cas sat slowly down across from him on the other bed.

“We will find him,” he said, and Dean lowered his hands to look at him. “I would give everything I have to bring Sam back to you.”

“Yeah,” Dean said gruffly.

“Sam is strong. He is an excellent hunter.”

“He had a chunk of his body torn off. Someone got the jump on him,” Dean said, rubbing his hands over his face again.

“And he may do the same to them. We will find him. Give me your hand,” Cas said suddenly, and he stretched his own hand out toward Dean.

“Damn, dude,” Dean said with a false bravado. “You planning on holding hands and skipping off into the sunset?”

“You are bleeding into the carpet,” Cas said, and Dean glanced down to see trickles of his blood running around shards of broken glass embedded deep into his hand.

He held his hand out. Cas took it in his own gentle grasp, and Dean could feel the warmth emanating between their palms before Cas placed his other hand on top of Dean’s. A pleasant tingle weaved through his fingers and into the palm of his hand. He has soft hands, Dean thought. He brushed aside the odd thought quickly, and when Cas slowly moved his hands away, Dean refused to admit that he slightly missed the warmth.

He examined his hands with interest, noting the blemish free skin. 

“Thanks,” he said softly, and Cas simply stared.

“I do not like to see you hurt,” Cas said sincerely.

And there it was; that everyday occurrence where Cas stared at Dean, and Dean stared right back, comfortable in its familiarity, even if Dean would have found it uncomfortable with anyone else.

Dean blinked and the moment was gone. He needed to find Sam. He carefully turned Abaddon’s note over in his hand, and saw another small scribble, this time in quotations.

_“Human beings can be awful cruel to one another.”_

Dean sat the paper down, his mind working furiously.

“I know that quote,” he finally said, memories playing in his mind of stolen hours with stolen books, late at night in motel rooms while John was God knows where and Sammy slept on peacefully in the bed. “That’s from Huckleberry Finn. Maybe that’s our location…St. Petersburg, Missouri.”

Cas shook his head.

“Mark Twain invented that town. It was supposedly based on his own town of Hannibal, Missouri.”

“Hannibal?” Dean asked, incredulous, while Cas remained silent. “Of course it is. Get in the car. We can be there three days if we hurry.”

*

Dean and Cas drove through the night, and Dean was reluctant to even check into a hotel room the next evening. He wanted to find his brother, and the faster he made it to Hannibal, the faster he would save Sam.

“You have to sleep,” Cas said pointedly, when the car clock read 10:15 p.m. “You have been driving for nearly twenty four straight hours.”

“I’ve gone longer. And I had a nap a few hours ago.”

“Yes. Standing at the gas pump, nearly falling over. You will be no help to your brother if you are not conscious.”

Dean knew Cas had a point, and he reluctantly pulled over to the next motel he came across, a shaggy, dirty hovel optimistically called “Daylight Inn”. The clerk at the front desk was barely old enough to drive, let alone operate a motel on his own, and Dean rolled his eyes when he nearly fell out of his chair at the sight of two guests. Dean wondered if the boy had ever had anyone stop here before. They quickly rented a room (thank you, Doctor Philip Randolph, and your Visa), and Dean collapsed onto the dusty motel bed.

“Are you sure I cannot fly on and see Sam myself?” Cas asked, and Dean groaned.

“I’ve told you all day, man. I can’t give you backup, and you’re not going on your own. If something happened to you too, I’d never forgive myself,” he said, turning his face to look at Cas, who still stood fully dressed beside the other bed.

“It would be the result of my own actions,” Cas frowned. “Why would you feel guilty?”

“Because I fuck up everything I touch,” Dean said, and the words came out more serious than he intended. “I couldn’t keep Bobby alive, couldn’t save Dad or Ellen, Jo, Ash…Mom.”

“You were a child, Dean-”

“It’s no excuse,” Dean said without emotion.

Cas paused and then sat at the bottom of Dean’s bed, careful to avoid eye contact.

“You are exceptional,” he finally said quietly. “Saving the world has fallen onto your shoulders more times than it should have, I am afraid, yet you carry the burden each time. You have failed no one, Dean. The world has failed you.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, he stood and made his way to the bathroom.

“Yeah, man, I don’t know about all that. I need a shower, and some sleep. Get comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dean showered quickly, and lay in the bed moments later, Cas awake in the next bed and watching reruns of Doctor Sexy in the serious and studious way he approached everything. He never said another word, except to tell Dean goodnight. If Dean hadn’t been exhausted, hadn’t fallen asleep minutes after his head touched the pillow, he would have noticed the way his mind kept repeating the same words repeatedly like a prayer.

_You are exceptional._

*

“You require nourishment,” Cas said from the passenger’s seat of the Impala.

“Dude, it’s barely two in the afternoon,” Dean rolled his eyes.

“You have not eaten since dinner last night,” Cas said stiffly. “You need to eat. And I wish to get out of the car.”

“Feeling cramped, Cas?” Dean asked with a smirk.

“Of course. My true form is-”

“Yeah, yeah. The size of the Chrysler building. You’ve probably got seven heads and twenty eyes, fourteen nipples. But you’re inside Jimmy now. Jesus, that came out wrong. How is Jimmy, anyway?”

“I suppose he is fine.”

“You don’t know?” Dean asked. “Shit, don’t you ever ask him how he’s doing in there?”

Cas threw a bewildered look at Dean.

“This body has been blown to microscopic pieces and reformed. How could Jimmy possibly exist in here?” Cas asked, then his eyes widened with understanding. “This was your attempt to distract me.”

“Did it work?” Dean asked with a smirk.

“Temporarily, it seems,” Cas admitted. “Now, food.”

Dean scowled, but pulled off at the next exit and stopped at a diner. He and Cas climbed out of the car, and Cas leveled Dean with a gaze.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Has it occurred to you that you always eat at a diner?” Cas asked, and Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Cheap food, good pie. What’s the problem?” he shot back.

“Perhaps you can be a bit…predictable?” Cas questioned, and Dean bristled.

“I stick with what I know. Come on.”

Dean and Cas grabbed a seat at a booth, and sat across from each other. Dean spent a matter of second on the menu before deciding.

“You going to eat?” Dean asked, and Cas tilted his head.

“There is no reason for me to,” he said.

“Live a little. How about a cheeseburger?” 

“If you insist.”

The waitress came to take their order, and Dean ordered for them both, though he opted to add bacon and an egg to the top of his own burger. When the waitress walked away, Dean gave a small laugh.

“Sam would bitch right now. ‘Heart attack on a bun’, he’d call it.”

Cas leaned toward Dean across the table.

“We will find him. You have my word.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but a child’s voice caught their attention from the door.

“Mommy! I lost Mr. Stuffles!” a small girl cried, and her mother attempted to console her when they passed Cas and Dean’s table.

“I’m sorry, baby. We’ll try to find him, okay?” the mother said.

“But we’ve been everywhere! What if he’s lost forever? What will I sleep with?” the girl wailed, and her mother managed to distract her with a menu.

Cas narrowed his eyes and glanced into the other corner of the diner. Then, he rose and walked quickly away. Dean watched him, curious, and was surprised to see him walk to a claw machine in the corner. Cas glanced around surreptitiously, and seeing only Dean watching, he waved his hand gently over the machine, which whirred to life at once. Cas grasped the controls, and maneuvered the claw above a toy. The claw dropped and grasped the prize, and dropped it into the bin, before shutting off once again.

Cas walked back toward Dean, and he saw a fuzzy brown bear with sewn button eyes, dressed in a plaid shirt and black rain boots. Dean watched Cas bypass their table and walk directly back to the little girl and her mother.

“Excuse me,” he said, and he bent down to the little girl. “I won this out of the machine. He may not be Mr. Stuffles, but I think he may be able to keep you company.”

The mother thanked Cas, and the girl took the toy incredulously.

“What should I name him?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Whatever you like,” Cas answered.

“Well…what’s _your_ name?” she questioned.

“Castiel,” he answered her.

“That’s a lot to ‘member,” she said seriously. “How about Cas? Is that okay?”

Cas glanced up at Dean, then leaned back to speak to the girl.

“I think I like Cas even better than Castiel,” he said, and the girl beamed at him. “Take good care of him.”

Cas came back sit across from Dean, who grinned at him.

“Looks like you can take the angel out of Heaven, but not Heaven out of the angel, huh?”

“I did what any person would do,” Cas replied.

“Then you’ve not been around too many people. Why the bear?” Dean asked, and Cas met his gaze across the table. 

“His shirt reminded me of you.”

“The plaid shirt and boots? But he didn’t have on any pants-”

Dean realized the implications of what he said, but was saved by the waitress arriving with their burgers.

“Eat up, dude. We’ve got a long drive if we want to hit Hannibal tomorrow.”

*

Cas managed to convince Dean to spend their last night of the journey in a hotel room.

“You cannot face Abaddon without sleep, Dean.”

Dean had found a small inn tucked away in a remote corner, only a few miles off the interstate. As hotels went, it was better than normal, with a working television, comfortable pillows, and a shower that didn’t feel like it had the pressure of a water hose.

The two lay back on their beds, watching reruns of Doctor Sexy together while Dean attempted to calm himself enough to sleep.

“Are all hospitals this color?” Cas questioned halfway through the episode, as a patient underwent emergency surgery.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“This white and gray. I believe it is meant to be sterile, though it reminds me of Naomi’s office.”

Dean grimaced at the mention of Naomi, but pressed past it, eager to avoid old memories.

“I’ve not been in every hospital, but yeah, all the ones I’ve been to look like that.”

Cas fell silent, and the patient on the screen flatlined. The doctors did the typical procedures, and when nothing worked, they fell into the expected reactions of self-loathing and anger. Dean, for once, had to look away from the screen. The last thing he wanted to be reminded of with Sam missing was the possibility of death. Cas shook his head.

“I would not want to die in a blank room. If I die, there must be colors.”

“Colors?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded, frowning to himself. “A life should end surrounded by vibrancy, just as it is lived.”

“I need a walk,” Dean said, and he grabbed his jacket to head out the door and into the chilly night.

He walked quickly, down the street and onto the path for hikers near the inn. It was reckless; God knows what creatures were after him, what Abaddon would be willing to pay for him. All he knew was that he couldn’t stand to stay in that room another second. Dean sank onto a bench and pressed his hands against his eyes, causing stars to burst in his vision. 

“Shit, Sammy,” he said in a gruff voice.

He sat that way for a quarter hour, hands slowly going numb in the cold breeze, before he heard a sudden and familiar sound next to him.

“Dean,” the gravelly voice said, and Dean sighed.

“I can’t do this alone, Cas,” Dean said.

“This is not your fault,” Cas said quietly, and Dean stood instantly, rage, terror, and sadness pouring out of him.

“How? How the _hell_ is this anyone’s fault but mine?” he bellowed. “I pulled Sam back into this life, and he never even wanted it! All he wanted was to go be some big shot lawyer, but no, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone, so I made him come back. I’ve gotten him killed, possessed, and now this?”

“You did nothing wrong,” Cas said.

Dean took a long stride toward him, stepping into his personal space, his face full of pain.

“No, don’t you dare do that. I don’t deserve to be better. I don’t deserve anything.”

Cas hesitated a moment before pulling Dean into a tight, comforting hug. Dean was always strong, the survivor, the practical voice, as long as Sam was safe. Without Sam, his resolve crumbled. At the touch, Dean nearly broke completely, shaking in Cas’ arms while tears welled in his eyes, all the while repeating himself.

“I’m not worth it.”

“Dean,” Cas said, grasping the other man by the shoulders and pulling him up to meet his gaze. “Dean, look at me.”

Without planning it, without even questioning himself, Dean surged forward and kissed Cas on his dry lips. Time seemed to stop, until Dean jerked himself away with a sudden pulse of fear.

“Oh, fuck,” he said. “Cas, I’m sorry.”

Cas seemed at a loss for words, and he swallowed before standing straight again.

“It is understandable. You are worried,” Cas said.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, waving his hand absentmindedly, trying to brush off the kiss. “So, I’m going to head back. Meet you there?”

Cas recognized the dismissal, and he nodded before flying off to the room. When Dean arrived, he found Cas sitting on his own bed, watching television intently as though nothing at all had happened between them. Dean slowly got ready for bed, replaying the kiss in his mind. He tried to shove it away, remembering the danger his brother was in, and focusing his attention on that instead. He tossed and turned for an hour in silence, worrying about Sam, before he allowed his sleepy thoughts to turn back to the kiss he and Cas had shared on the dark, tree lined path. Only then did he finally find the peace to sleep.

His soft snores finally alerted Cas to his sleeping, and the angel turned to watch him as he slept on peacefully.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

*

The hours in the car the next day were tense. Cas and Dean listened to Dean’s ever constant stream of old tapes, but conversation was lacking, and Dean clenched his jaw.  
What had he been thinking? He wasn’t interested in Cas that way, and he was sure Cas felt the same. They were comrades in the trenches, war buddies. That was all. Dean had always been more attracted to women, but an occasional man would catch his eye, especially when he had been drinking or was away from his Dad or Sam. Dammit…Sam.  
Dean shook his head to erase the image of what could be happening to his brother, and focused instead on Cas. It wasn’t much better, but it was easier to think about that problem instead of his brother.

Would Cas be interested in him? Cas wasn’t even human. Why was he thinking of this anyway? He wasn’t attracted to Cas. He wasn’t. No.

A road sign indicated they would arrive in Hannibal late that night, and Dean’s stomach gave a hearty growl.

“Food,” Cas said, without even looking at him.

“There’s no time,” Dean argued back.

“We will not arrive for several hours. Eat so you are not weak.”

Cas looked over at him, a miniscule movement of his eyes for the first time on the trip, and Dean’s heart thudded in his chest. 

“I’m not weak,” Dean spit out.

“I know.”

Dean pulled off at the next exit, and Cas began to point out signs for local diners. He and Dean pulled into one, and climbed out of the car. Dean sighed, and walked the opposite direction, away from the diner.

“Where are you going?” Cas asked, tilting his head.

“The Chinese place across the street,” he said, and he smiled at Cas’ confused look. “I’m not always predictable, you know.”

“I do.”

Dean flushed slightly, and he and Cas made their way into the restaurant. It was set up buffet style, rows of freshly made delicious dishes lining the center. Dean paid for two buffets, at his insistence that Cas eat something, and the two of them piled their plates full of anything that looked good before sliding into a booth. A waitress brought them drinks and chopsticks, and they began to eat.

“I don’t know what this is, but it’s good,” Dean said around a rice roll of some sort.

Cas glanced up from his own plate.

“Sushi.”

Dean sputtered, the roll falling to the plate.

“Dude! That’s gross!”

“Eat something else,” Cas said, picking up fried rice with his chopsticks and eating with a look of concentration.

“I…the chopsticks…”

“Dean,” Cas said, nearly smiling. “Can you use chopsticks?”

“Yeah, ‘course I can,” Dean said gruffly.

He stabbed the sticks into a piece of chicken and picked it up to eat.

“See?” he said, mouth full of food, and Cas made the sound that Dean equated to almost laughing.

“Here,” Cas said.

He put his own chopsticks down and moved his deft fingers over Dean’s to show him how to hold the sticks. Dean’s breath hitched at the contact. Cas maneuvered the sticks, and showed Dean how to move his hands to pick up the food. Dean raised the sticks and managed to get a piece of beef in his mouth.

“There. That was easy,” Cas said, and his eyes met Dean’s.

A spark seemed to shoot between them at the eye contact, and Cas dropped his hands immediately. 

“Now you know how, in case you ever need to use them again.”

“Right,” Dean said, nodding. “Thanks.”

“Anything for you,” Cas answered, not meeting his gaze.

Later, when they climbed into the car to get back on the road, Dean noticed the tension had dissipated. Twenty minutes into the drive, speeding down the interstate, Cas slowly and carefully placed his soft hand over Dean’s in the space between them.

Dean was so fucked.

*

The sun was setting low in the sky when Dean pulled into Hannibal that evening, setting the sky afire.

“Any idea on where we go?” Dean asked.

“The only clue Abaddon gave was for Mark Twain. His old home was turned into an inn here. Perhaps there?” Cas asked.

“It’s a good place to start. Get out my cell phone, I’ve got a GPS.”

Cas turned Dean’s cell phone on, then stared blankly at the screen.

“Dean, what is a GPS?” he asked, staring at the phone as though it held the answers to the universe.

“Hand it over,” Dean said, and he pulled off the small town road to punch in the information.

Cas stared at the phone, almost doubting its abilities, until Dean announced they were within five miles of the place. It hardly took any time to drive there, yet twilight had set in by the time they pulled up in front of the stately white building. It appeared completely deserted.

“Is this it?” Dean asked, double checking the GPS.

“Yes, I believe so. It seems abandoned,” Cas frowned. “But the reviews on your phone said it was open.”

“Yeah, that’s not ominous at all,” Dean said, peering into the yard in the quickly fading light; soon it would be too dark to see anything, and they needed to get moving before they lost the advantage.

Dean reached for his door handle, and Cas did the same, eying the house warily. They met at the trunk of the car, and Dean reached in to pull out his weapons. 

“You ready for this?” Dean asked, and he closed the trunk, submerging himself and Cas in the near darkness.

Cas stared angrily into the dark, his brow creased.

“There are angel sigils here to weaken me,” he said, and he scowled. “I will not be much use. My powers are severely limited.”

“I’ll take any backup I can get,” Dean answered.

“I cannot heal you if you are injured, Dean,” Cas said fervently. “Please, be careful.”

“Hey, wouldn’t be the first time I died, right?” Dean joked, then sobered. “I’ll do what it takes to save Sam.”

Cas nodded, and suddenly he was closing the distance between them, pressing his lips hotly against Dean’s and holding his face softly between his smooth hands. Dean reached up with his free hand and fisted Cas’ trench coat. They broke apart a moment later, breathing heavily and still touching one another. Cas took a step back, and let his angel blade drop from his sleeve into his waiting hand.

“Now I am ready,” he said, and they began a steady walk to the front of the house.

Dean was on guard, pushing the encounter with Cas from his mind; he’d work through that piece of information later, when Sam was safe. He scanned the yard, expecting an ambush at any second. Strangely, he and Cas made it through the front doors without any problems. Once inside, Dean spied a warm light creeping in underneath a doorway. He pointed at it, and Cas nodded, following him to the slightly ajar door. With one solid movement, Dean kicked it open and rushed in. 

Standing in the room, entirely alone, was Sam.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean said, a breath heaving from his body, and Sam turned toward him.

“Hey, Dean,” he said, cheerfully, and the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck raised at the sight of his brother’s pale face.

Dean took a step back, but hesitated to level his weapon. Sam’s eyes flashed black, and he grinned. Dean immediately began to spew out an exorcism, but Sam waved his hand and Dean and Cas were struck mute.

“Now, now, you wouldn’t hurt your brother would you?” Sam’s voice lilted. “Even if little old me is controlling his fleshy bits, you can’t hurt baby brother!”

Dean roared in silent fury. He mouthed at the demon, _Abaddon? Get out!_

“Very good, it’s me. I have to say, your brother’s form is even better than yours, Dean. Those are some good genetics.”

Dean snarled his lip up, but didn’t advance. He caught Cas’ eye, and realized he wasn’t going to try anything either.

“Relax, both of you. I’m going to get out of Sam just as soon as I get what I want. Can I trust you to speak now?”

Sam waved his hand again, and Dean found his voice instantly.

“Get out of him,” he growled, and Abaddon grinned at him from his brother’s body.

“Not the smartest boy, are you? I just said I was leaving. Give me what I want, I leave this body. It’s that easy.”

“Why not just ask instead of stealing Sam for days?” Dean asked loudly.

“I needed you desperate, willing to give anything,” Sam’s voice said.

“What do you want?” Cas asked, stepping forward, and though he was weak on his feet, the angelic force of his voice was still evident.

“Your Grace, Castiel.”

Cas looked surprised, and Dean answered before he could say anything.

“No way.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised, betraying a hint of surprise. 

“No?” he asked. “I know Sam’s thoughts. How he loves you more than anything in the world, how he always thought of you as more of a father than John ever was. And you won’t convince Castiel to hand over his Grace?”

Dean threw a pained look at Cas, but answered Abaddon quickly.

“It isn’t mine to give away. Take something of mine,” he volunteered, and Sam’s face changed into a snarl.

“You don’t have anything I want. It has to be Castiel’s Grace. He will do anything you ask, Dean. You know it. All you have to do is ask. Ask him.”

“I-,” Dean stuttered, eyes switching back and forth between his brother and Cas.

“Yes,” Cas answered firmly.

“Cas, no. I can’t ask you to do that. I won’t,” Dean said, shaking his head rapidly.

“You are not asking. I am volunteering,” Cas said, and he shot a withering stare at Sam’s eyes, black to the depths. “I can get it back. I have brothers and sisters in Heaven who will return it to me. Save Sam.”

“Good choice,” Sam’s voice echoed in the fire-lit room, and he tossed a phial at Cas, who caught it effortlessly. “Put it in there, and I’ll take it back. All of it.”

Dean watched Cas uncork the container. With a final glare, he opened his mouth and a silvery blue substance began to leak out. It weaved and flowed on the air, less dense than a liquid, but more concrete than smoke. When the last bit was stored inside the bottle, he capped it and weakly, heavily, walked toward Sam.

“No, no,” his voice said. “Angel blade on the floor.”

Cas let the blade drop with a clatter, and he advanced on Sam. When the phial was safe in the demon’s hand, and Cas was back by Dean’s side, breathing heavily and barely standing, Sam reached up with a can of spray paint and marked one of the sigils through. 

A fluttering sound and gush of air signaled the arrival of an angel, who smiled with a cruel expression, and took the phial from Sam.

“Metatron,” Cas wheezed out. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, see, when Heaven and Hell both want something very badly,” Sam’s voice said softly, “they work together. I want the gates of Heaven closed. He wants the angels ejected from Heaven. Except himself, of course. We needed a very specific type of angel’s Grace, and you supplied it. Thank you, Castiel.”

“No,” Cas breathed weakly. “I will get it back.”

“Not with the gates closed. Enjoy humanity, Castiel. Tell me your story someday,” Metatron said with a maddening superiority, and he vanished on the spot, taking Cas’ Grace with him.

Cas only looked pained for a moment before turning his gaze back to Sam’s gangly body.

“You got what you wanted. Get out of Sam Winchester,” he demanded, and Sam’s head quirked.

“I’m a woman of my word. I will leave this body,” Sam’s voice said, a hint of laughter in the words. “Oh, Cas. He trusted you so much, even with how many times you screwed him over. And Dean. If you only knew how much he loved you, his desperate hope that you still loved him, after everything he had done. His heart was just so big.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, pulse racing.

Sam’s body let out a cruel laugh, and his hand was suddenly on the hem of his shirt. With blackened eyes never leaving Dean’s, Sam raised his shirt to reveal a bloody and gaping wound in the chest, where his heart had been completely carved out. With one last laugh, Abaddon smoked out of Sam’s body, and it crumpled to the floor in a heap.

“Sam! _Sam!_ ” Dean yelled, at his brother’s side in an instant.

His hands moved up to his brother’s paled neck, and even though he knew it was pointless, he searched desperately for a pulse. He pounded at Sam’s chest, willing something to happen.

“Please,” Dean begged quietly, gazing into his brother’s blank and dead eyes. “Please, Sam. Come back.”

Cas sank down into the floor next to Dean, and he slowly reached up and closed Sam’s eyes, his hands shaking wildly.

“Cas,” Dean said, barely audible. “How long has he been…you know.”

He couldn’t say the word. To say the word would make it real.

“Looking at the wound, I would say it happened the day he was taken, if not immediately,” Cas placed a shaking hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean leaned into it. “There is nothing we can do.”

Dean nodded, and without warning, he plunged his fist against the dark wooden floor, the pain radiating up his arm until it numbed the pain of losing Sam, at least for a moment.

“Dean, stop,” Cas said, and Dean turned to face him, tears streaming down his face. “This was not your fault. Please, I cannot heal you.”

“Cas, your Grace,” Dean said, trying to process yet another painful truth.

“We deal with that later,” Cas said sternly. “Right now, we honor your brother’s memory.”

“Oh God,” Dean said with a sudden realization. “I have to burn his body. I can’t let another one of those sons-a-bitches get in him. Never again. He deserves peace, dammit!”

“He has it,” Cas said. “Sam is surely in Heaven, and has been for a few days. But if you want, I can try and summon one of my brothers or sisters to bring him back.”

Dean wanted to leave immediately, find a crossroad, and get his brother back. He would do anything, give everything he had. Yet something stopped him. Dean thought back to the chapel at the end of the final trial, and of Sam’s broken spirit. He didn’t want to come back. He wanted his peace, and little though Dean wanted him to be gone, he was going to honor his brother’s wish, and give him his peace in death.

“No,” Dean said. “He wouldn’t want to come back. Let me get a bonfire going. Get this over with.”

Dean rose at once to go to the back of the property, a place lined with trees and with plenty of wood to spare. He threw himself into the manual labor of building the bonfire, wiping sweat and tears from his face as he worked. Once he was content with the wood, and had doused the entire creation in lighter fluid, he made his way back into the house to help his brother on his final trip.

Cas aided Dean as best as he could, shivering violently, and they wrapped Sam’s body in a crisp linen sheet from the inn. Dean moved his hands through his brother’s hair one last time before folding the sheet over his head. Then they silently carried Sam’s body to the pillar, setting him gently on top of the wood pile, and Dean wordlessly lit a pack of matches. He dropped them into the wood, which erupted into flames that licked at the sky, the same fiery color as the sunset had been.

Cas stayed with Dean for as long as he could stand, the shivering intensifying near the fire.

“Go and sit in the car. I’ll be there in a little while,” Dean found himself saying, and Cas nodded, walking away to the vehicle. Dean heard the door close, and he was alone with his brother at last.

“I’m going to miss you, Bitch,” he said with a hollow chuckle, and he took a seat on the cool grass. “I mean, I knew this shit was going to end bloody. I just thought it would end bloody with us together. Man, I’m sorry I wasn’t there. You were alone. I didn’t protect you.”

Dean tried to push aside the guilt gnawing at his insides, and pressed on with his one-sided conversation.

“What am I supposed to do without you around?” he asked, and he slammed his injured fist into the ground with all his strength. “What the hell do I _do?_ ”

He sat by the fire until it burned out, all remnants of his brother turned to ash in the glowing coals. He nodded to himself finally, and stood to dust himself off. He turned to walk back to the car, whispering softly over his shoulder.

“Bye, Sammy.”

The ride back to the bunker was long and painful. They stopped as little as possible. Cas was still shaking violently, and Dean had covered him with a blanket from the trunk, keeping his music turned off so Cas could get some much needed sleep whenever night fell, and Dean only slept in small increments himself. Sleep was for a human, and being human was the last thing Dean wanted to be. Insignificant, weak creatures. They traveled the distance back in near silence, the miles running together. When he was nearly back to the bunker, and had reached a deep river, Dean pulled the Impala over to the side of the bridge and wordlessly popped the trunk. Cas’ eyes followed him while he climbed out of the car, and began chunking weapons and anything dealing with his past over the side and into the murky waters below. Salt, holy water, guns, ammo. They smacked into the water with a stubborn finality, Dean cussing them and all they stood for.

Dean only kept his handgun and its couple of rounds begrudgingly, because he knew it was foolish to have zero protection in a world as dangerous as his own. He climbed back into the car and drove on toward the bunker. Cas didn’t say a word.

The next night, Dean and Cas were on the road when a sudden streak of light in the sky caught their attention. Dean thought it was a shooting star, but soon dozens and dozens of lights were bursting in all directions. Cas bit his lip and stared, unable to help himself. His brothers and sisters were falling, and all he could do was watch.

Cas sank into bed soon after arriving back home, and Dean left him to it. He’d help Cas the best way he could, but his mind was made up. He punched in Garth’s number on his phone, and drank whiskey straight from the bottle.

“Hey, Dean! Haven’t heard from you in, like, months man!” Garth’s happy voice was grating over the phone. “How are you?”

“Sam’s dead,” Dean said, and the word tasted bitter in his mouth.

Garth went silent on the other end.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “What can I do?”

“The angels fell, and Metatron has Cas’ Grace. I want to get Cas juiced back up, get the gates opened, and get those feathered assholes home.”

“Sure, yeah,” Garth agreed. “I can leave now and be at your place in a few days, and we-”

“No,” Dean said firmly. “I’m out. I’m done with this shit. I’ll be your researcher or something on this, but after it’s over, no more hunts.”

“Dean-”

“We get the angels home, we get Cas his Grace back. Got it?” Dean growled into the phone, and Garth was quiet.

“Yeah. We’ll do it. I’ll get some people on it and we’ll start right away. You call me if you need anything.”

Dean hung up without saying goodbye, and drank until the pain in his hand and his soul were barely noticeable.

*

Cas awoke two days later to find Dean in much the same position. He pried the new bottle out of Dean’s hands and firmly emptied it down the sink, poured Dean and himself a glass of water, and came to sit next to him, legs and hands shaking as he did so.

“Dude, you’re still shaking? Is that some kind of angel mojo detox?”

“I have no idea, but I do wish it would stop,” Cas said.

Dean placed his water on the table, head pounding from one hell of a hangover, and Cas sat his down as well. Slowly, Dean moved his hand to cover one of Cas’ trembling ones, and gave it a squeeze.

“What do I do now?” he asked, ashamed of how broken he sounded.

“You live,” Cas answered. “Work on your car, read, hunt.”

“I’m not going to hunt anymore. Not alone.”

“You have me,” Cas pointed out. “But no one is making you hunt. You can sit here and watch those-those Trek Wars movies.”

“The hell is Trek- you mean Star Wars?” Dean asked, and Cas furrowed his brow.

“Yes, I believe that is what you called it.”

“Dude. Tell me what you think it’s about,” Dean said, peering at him intently.

“I have never seen it,” Cas answered.

“That’s going to make it so much better.”

Cas chewed his lip, but finally caved under the look Dean was giving him.

“Well, I believe there is this evil man named Dark Invader, and he leads an army to destroy planets. There is a hero named Luke, and he has a sister that was temporarily his girlfriend, then she met Hand Solo, who has a chewy sidekick. Though why he has tasted him, I do not know. There is a tiny green man who does not speak proper English, and a few robots. And something about…a jar of binks? Dean, what is a bink?”

Dean was positively howling with laughter by the end of Cas’ description, and for the first time in days, he felt something other than pain and emptiness.

“Oh God,” Dean wheezed, clutching at Cas’ hand. “We’re watching those movies. What others do you know?”

Cas kept Dean laughing at his attempts to describe Harry Potter, Indiana Jones, and (the most memorably) Back to the Future.

“I understand the concept of time travel, as you know, but I do not see how a car from the eighties would be a wise choice of vehicle.”

Dean laughed until his sides ached, holding on to Cas’ shivering hands. All at once, Cas’ stomach gave a magnificent growl.

“I can make us some burgers,” Dean said, and he rose to walk to the kitchen, Cas following behind him on shaky legs.

Within a half hour, Dean lay a plate of greasy, delicious burgers down on the table for him and Cas to eat. Cas made a pleased sound after the first bite.

“I believe these are better than the ones I ate during our experiences with Famine,” he said, mouth full.

“Yeah, I can make burgers. Just never really had the chance, with Sammy being into rabbit food,” Dean said, then closed his mouth abruptly at the mention of his brother. 

Cas sat his burger down in his plate and surveyed Dean carefully.

“Remembering your brother is not a sin, Dean,” he said. “He was a good man, and he deserves to be talked about.”

Dean nodded his head and picked up his burger. Several long minutes passed before he began to speak again.

“You know, Sam had this big crush on a girl back in middle school. Dad was off on a hunt, and we were staying in a house for once, rented and everything. Sammy wanted to impress her, so he had me cook my burgers and invited her over for dinner. Damn, he was talking it up on the phone with her too. He told her how good I cooked, that I had made my specialty. She came over, took one step in the house, and gagged. Turns out she was a vegetarian,” Dean laughed. “Sam was all torn up over it, but I just took the stuff to put on the burgers and made a big salad out of it. I put the burgers in the fridge, sprayed some cheap cologne, and bam. Dinner was saved.”

“What happened to the girl?” Cas asked.

“Ah, we left out of there a few months later, but Sam had moved on by then. He didn’t really get attached to a girl until he met Jess in college.”

Dean’s chest felt lighter, more free. He thought talking about Sam this soon would make himself hurt worse, but it was having the opposite effect. He and Cas sat by the table well into the afternoon, cracking open a few beers and sharing stories on Sam, only shedding tears a few times. It was immensely therapeutic for Dean, and after making them some sandwiches, he and Cas went back to the living room to sit on the couch and watch movies.

Dean started Star Wars first, in order of release, and sat back to enjoy the show. Cas studied the movie on Dean’s laptop with a studious stare. When he learned new information about characters or events he had wrong, he gave a small nod, as though storing it away in his brain for future use.

Late that night, Garth texted his progress to Dean, or lack thereof, and Dean was surprised at his lack of anger. He wanted Cas to get his Grace back, but looking at the man sprawled next to him on the couch, Dean thought he could get used to having a human Cas around too.

The next few days passed slowly. Dean still missed Sam like a constant ache in his chest, and he knew he always would. His life had been spent around his brother, caring for him and protecting him, and now he was gone. It was to be expected that it would hurt. 

Garth checked in daily, always with the same news of being unable to find information, even though Kevin was helping him. Cas and Dean spent hours poring over reference materials, only to come up empty handed themselves. At night, they sat together on the couch watching movies until one of them dozed off and the other went to bed. During their third week back at the bunker, Dean called a break.

“I have to change the oil in Baby,” he said, then hesitated. “You’re welcome to join me.”

“That sounds fascinating,” Cas said, and what would have been sarcastic from anyone else was sincere.

“It’s just oil. Come on, I’ll let you help.”

Dean raised the car up so he could get underneath of it, and Baby’s wide stance meant that Cas could get underneath as well. 

“Alright,” Dean said. “I’ll walk you through it. The first thing we have to do is get the old oil out of here. To do that, we find the plug that opens it. It’s like a little screw. Then all we need to do is put the pan to catch it right here-”

“Is this it, Dean?” Cas asked, and he began to unscrew the plug.

“No, wait!” Dean shouted, but he was too slow.

Thick, foul oil shot out and coated them both. Dean scrambled to get the pan under it, and he and Cas slid out from under the car, slick and sputtering. Dean rubbed his face on his sleeves, and glanced up to yell at Cas, but the complaints died on his tongue.

Cas was covered in oil, his hair matted against his head, face blackened, and wearing a distinct expression Dean associated with smiting.

He looked adorable.

Dean laughed and shoved at Cas, his hand catching on the greasy sleeve of his shirt, and he tossed him a towel. They cleaned off as best as they could, and slid back under the car.

“Let me explain before you do the things this time,” Dean joked, and he nudged Cas with his knee. Cas narrowed his eyes, but Dean caught the ghost of a smile on his face.

Less than an hour later, the car had fresh oil, the mess had been cleaned, and Dean and Cas trekked inside to clean themselves off.

“Dibs!” Dean called and he ran for the shower, leaving Cas looking confused behind him.

He stripped off his greasy clothes, throwing them in the hamper, and turned on the spray for the shower. Grease flowed off his body in rivulets, and Dean sighed while the water pressure worked the soreness from his back. A knock at the door startled him out of his relaxation.

“Dean? There is something in my eye. It burns.”

“Give me just a minute, and you can have the bathroom,” Dean called back.

“It hurts,” Cas replied, and Dean understood; oil in the eye hurt like a bitch.

“Alright, come in and wash it out in the sink,” he yelled, and he heard Cas open the door.

He peaked around the shower curtain to see Cas with one eye clamped shut, standing shirtless and barefoot, just in his boxers. Dean’s heart jumped to his throat. He shouldn’t have that reaction. Kissing was one thing. Ogling his best friend in his boxers was another entirely.

“I cannot get it out,” Cas said, frustrated. “And it burns.”

Dean desperately tried to stop the next words from leaving his mouth, but they slipped out regardless.

“You can just get in here with me and let me rinse it out.”

Shit.

“Please,” Cas answered, and Dean heard him shuck his boxers off before the shower curtain was pulled back.

Cas was still squinting his eye, and Dean resolutely kept his eyes above waist level, maneuvering Cas into the spray.

“Okay, let’s get that grease off of you, then I can see your eye better.”

He washed the oily residue off, and it flowed in black bubbles to the drain. He pulled Cas closer to him to inspect his eye, and Cas hesitantly opened it.

“Oh, I see it. You’ve got oil right in the corner of your eye. Damn, I bet that does hurt,” Dean said, and he carefully rinsed out the tar-like substance.

Cas blinked several times.

“Is that better?” Dean asked, still standing close.

“Yes,” Cas answered. “Much better.”

Neither of them moved away. Cas raised one violently shaking hand to Dean’s chest hesitantly, and Dean gave a small nod. He leaned forward and kissed Cas gently, their first since the night Sam had died, and there was no desperation to it this time. It was just Dean and Cas, standing under the warm water in the closest thing to a home either had ever had.

Dean tilted his head and licked at Cas’ lips, which he eagerly opened. Their kiss deepened, and Dean found himself slowly pushing Cas back against the wall, noticing only when his hands found the cool tiles and Cas gave a small gasp at the sudden cold contact. The sound affected Dean more than he thought it would, and he pressed against Cas, hands running through his wet hair while Cas clung to his hips. In the warmth and closeness, Dean felt their arousals brush. He sucked in air and pulled away, meeting Cas’ eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, and Cas’ lips pulled up slightly in the corners.

He leaned back in to kiss Dean again, and his hips rose slightly from the wall, causing friction to send a pulse through Dean’s body. Dean reached a hand between them to wrap his fingers around them both, and they spent the next half hour in the shower together, exploring every inch they had never had the strength to ask for before.

When Garth called that night to give them the usual report, Dean was sprawled on the couch with Cas working through his favorite Marvel movies. He made agreeing noises and talked about the angels with his friend, but he was happier than he had been in a long time. He knew a therapist would have ideas about how his codependency with his brother had shifted into a sexual relationship with his best friend. He knew he wasn’t ready to tell people about whatever this was between them. He also knew he didn’t want it to end.

*

Dean nuzzled into Cas’ neck and breathed in his familiar scent. Cas let out a sleepy sound and rolled over to kiss Dean good morning. Ever since the shower experience a month prior, Dean and Cas had been falling asleep together in Dean’s room, and woke up tangled together.

“Want to go get breakfast?” Dean asked, his voice sleep muddled.

“I was thinking I would cook French toast,” Cas answered, stretching lazily.

“Dude, you can cook?”

“I did learn some skills while living as Emmanuel,” Cas replied, and he swung his legs clumsily over the side of the bed slowly before raising up and throwing on clothes.

Dean copied his movements, noting that Cas seemed to be moving slower than he normally did, and pushing it off on becoming human. He put on some well-worn jeans, now washed and free of all bloodstains, and a stretched out shirt. Today was a day for comfort. He felt domestic and far too comfortable. With anyone else, it would have been cause for fear and lead to running away, but he was finally beginning to give in to Sam’s old advice and take the life he didn’t think he deserved. 

Dean poured them both a glass of orange juice when they came into the kitchen. Cas cracked eggs into a bowl, nearly dropping one when his hands shook with their normal tremors. He added the rest of the ingredients and turned on the griddle to get it hot enough to sear their breakfast.

“That smells amazing,” Dean said, and Cas threw him a happy look over his shoulder. “No wonder Daphne married you.”

“She loved me, but I do not think I loved her,” Cas replied, and Dean nearly choked on his orange juice. “I do not even know if I understood the concept before now.”

This was veering into dangerous territory. Dean was in no way prepared to make that announcement to himself, let alone Cas. He changed the subject quickly.

“Hey, I need to head into town today for some supplies. You coming?” he asked, and Cas gave a nod, flipping the French toast.

“Yes, I could use some new toothpaste. I do not like cinnamon flavored.”

“Yeah, it’s bitter. You’d probably like-”

Dean jerked his head up at the loud clatter and crash of breaking plates and a falling spatula, mixed with a howl of pain from Cas, before one final crash signified the griddle hitting the floor. Cas backed away, grasping at his arms with shaking hands.

“What happened?” Dean asked, on his feet immediately.

“I knocked it off and tried to catch it,” Cas said, hissing out between his teeth when Dean touched his arms.

“These are bad burns. Come on, we’re going to the hospital,” Dean said, and he left the mess in the floor, griddle unplugged, and helped Cas into his shoes and out the door to the car.

Dean drove quickly, eyes darting to Cas often to see the man holding his arms gingerly ahead, the limbs shaking wildly. Now, though, Dean noticed a shake in Cas’ head as well, as though he couldn’t hold still. Dean knew he must be in considerable pain.

He squealed into the parking lot and ushered Cas into the emergency room, where a bored nurse handed him a small pile of papers to fill out, and asked Cas’ name.

“Castiel Winchester. Can we do this in the room?” he asked, Cas breathing sharply beside him.

The nurse glanced up and down Cas, chewing her bottom lip in thought.

“It’s just a little burn,” she said, popping her gum. “He’ll live.”

Dean growled and took a step toward the window separating them.

“Get him in a room and get a doctor in to see him now, or you’re going to have a much bigger problem in here than a burn patient,” he said, eyes swiveling toward the security guard edging his way. “And don’t even try it. You wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve done to people for a hell of a lot less. Room. Now.”

The nurse sighed and waved the security officer away.

“Fine. I’ll buzz you in.”

She let them in the hallway, and Dean glared at her when she showed Cas to his room.

“A doctor will be with you shortly,” she said, popping her gum again and heading out.

“They damn well better be,” Dean said after her, and she rolled her eyes and closed the door.

“Dean,” Cas said, a hint of humor in his pained voice. “I have experienced worse than this.”

“You won’t again, if I can help it,” Dean sat stiffly in a chair next to the hospital bed, and looked at the paperwork in front of him. “We have to make up most of this. Fuck, how old do you want to be?”

They went over the paperwork in a matter of minutes, and both tried to commit the false information to memory in case anyone asked them later. They finished just in time for a plump physician to come through the door.

“Mr. Winchester?” she asked.

“Yes?” Dean and Cas answered together, and she smiled widely.

“I’m Doctor Morris. Let’s take a look at those arms.”

Cas held them out, and Dr. Morris looked them over carefully.

“They aren’t deep, so I’m going to prescribe you some burn cream to help them heal. With luck, you won’t even have a visible scar. My main concern is this shaking. Do you always do this?” she asked, concern etching her face.

“Yes. I thought it would stop on its own.”

“How long has it been going on?” she pressed, and Dean answered before Cas could say something strange.

“A very long time. Why?” he asked.

“Has it always been this bad, or has it gotten worse?” the doctor asked.

“I have started noticing it in my head more often,” Cas said, and the doctor furrowed her brow.

“Any other symptoms? Have you been feeling stiff, or moving more slowly?”

“Yes,” Cas answered. “I thought it was all part of the human experience.”

The doctor laughed.

“That’s true. I’d like to run some tests anyway, though. Sit tight,” she said, and she left the room.

Soon after, a nurse came to take a blood, and a neurologist stopped by, shaking Dean and Cas’ hand heartily.

“Alright, Mr. Winchester. I’m Doctor Harless, and I’m going to be giving you a few tests, alright?” the man said, and Cas nodded. “Okay. Stand up here for me, and we’re going to get you to move your arms and legs.”

Cas followed the instructions, and Dean noticed a slight change in demeanor in the doctor, especially when Cas lost his balance while standing on one leg. The doctor thanked them, and left the room to speak with Doctor Morris. Dean heard them speaking in hushed sounds outside the door, and soon Dr. Morris had returned, her face impossible to read.

“Thank you for coming in,” Doctor Morris said, and she looked back and forth between them. “There’s no easy way for me to give you this news.”  
Dean’s stomach clenched and he looked up worriedly.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, and Dr. Morris crossed to take one of Cas’ convulsing hands in her own.

“You have end stage Parkinson’s Disease, Mr. Winchester,” she said. “Frankly, I’m astounded you didn’t catch it earlier. You have all of the classic symptoms.”

“End stage, what does that mean?” Dean asked, while Cas just stared at his shaking hands. “What are the treatments?”

“Treatments are most successful on earlier stages, though we can certainly try some things. End stage means the disease is coming to its conclusion,” Dr. Morris said.

“Which is?” Dean pressed.

“It is a fatal condition, Dean,” Cas answered somberly from his place on the bed, and he squeezed the doctor’s hand weakly.

Dean couldn’t breathe. 

“How long does he have?” he finally asked, and the doctor let go of Cas’ hand to take a step back.

“Not long,” she answered quietly. “His is the most progressed undiagnosed case I have ever seen. I would say it’s a matter of weeks. Mr. Winchester, I highly suggest you take up residence in our long term rooms upstairs. We can give you the care you need.”

“Yes,” Dean said before Cas could. “Please.”

“I’ll go begin the work to transfer you there now. I’m so sorry,” she said, and she was gone.

Cas and Dean sat in stunned silence. Finally, Dean rose and wrapped his arms around Cas, holding the shaking man tightly.

“We can handle this. Look, Garth is working on getting you mojo’d back up, and then this won’t be a problem at all. Alright?”

Cas nodded his head, the shaking more pronounced than ever before.

“I knew Jimmy was predisposed to this condition. I just did not think it was this bad.”

“We’ll fix it,” Dean said, and he kissed Cas softly.

*

The next few days at the hospital were tense. Dean and Cas ate their horrible hospital food, watched more classic movies, and waited impatiently for Garth to call. Dean had texted him about their situation, and Garth had replied, saying he wasn’t sleeping until he had figured out what to do. Dean had offered to help him, speed the process along, but it had been a hollow gift, and he knew it. He couldn’t leave Cas.

Cas was steadily declining, now shaking constantly and in all of his extremities. His movements were stilted and slow, and he knew time was running out. 

Late one night, he and Cas lay in the same bed and watched Forrest Gump together. Cas curled a trembling hand slowly into the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

“I do not regret any of it,” he said firmly, working to create the words, and he shushed Dean before he could talk. “Listen to me. I pulled you out of Hell, remade you, because you are worth it all. I fought and rebelled. I did terrible things since I have known you, and I apologize for them all. But I would do all of it again if it meant I could end up here.”

“This is a shitty place to be,” Dean grunted out.

“I did not mean here in the hospital,” Cas gave a weak laugh. “I meant with you. It was all worth it.”

Dean kissed Cas on his forehead as a response, his throat too tight to talk, and Cas sighed.

“This room,” he said, looking around with disgust. “There is so much gray and white.”

Dean’s phone gave off a buzz that shocked them both. Dean leapt up to answer it, while Cas took a coughing fit, and waved him out the door so he could hear better.

“Garth,” Dean answered, shutting the door behind him and speaking in a quiet, desperate tone.

“Hey, Dean,” Garth answered. He sounded exhausted.

“Tell me you have something.”

“We found an angel, named Gadreel. He knows the spell to get the gates back open. It’s basically the reverse of the ingredients to make it. We’ve got everything but the Grace of an angel who hates a human.”

“So do it! Get the gates open, and get Cas his Grace back. He’s dying!” Dean said loudly.

“Dean, that’s why I’m calling. The Grace is used up in the spells. There’s-there’s nothing to find.”

Dean sank down on the wall outside of Cas’ room.

“So you’re telling me it’s gone?” he asked, and he took Garth’s silence as confirmation. “Then open the gates. Get one of those other angelic bastards over here to heal him.”

Garth hesitated on the phone.

“What?” Dean snarled.

“The angels blame Cas for the fall. If he hadn’t given his Grace, this wouldn’t have happened. They refuse to heal him.”

“They can’t blame him! He did it for me and Sam!”

“They don’t care. Dean…no one is coming.”

“I can’t just let him die,” Dean said, a pleading tone in his voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Dean hung up the phone and slung it against the opposite wall, where is busted apart. He smoothed his hands over his face. He would have to make a deal, that’s all there was to it. He and Cas had beaten Hell before, and they could again. Dean stood and walked back into Cas’ room, leaving the broken remains of his phone in the hall.

“Dean,” Cas said, and Dean met his gaze from the doorway.

“Hey, that was Garth,” Dean said unnecessarily. 

“I heard it all,” Cas said, and Dean was surprised to see him look calm.

“I’m not giving up,” Dean said fervently. “I know you won’t agree, but I’m not just going to sit here and let you go.”

“No deals,” Cas said firmly. “No. It is my time, Dean. I will go.”

“Please,” Dean begged quietly.

“This is my decision to make. I have made up my mind.”

Dean nodded slowly. 

“Then you’re coming with me. Now.”

“Where?” Cas asked, perplexed, but Dean was already helping him out of bed and into comfortable clothes.

Dean carefully snuck Cas down the stairwell and out into the parking lot to his waiting car. Carefully, Dean eased Cas into the seat and closed his door, then climbed in his own side to drive off.

“Do you remember when we met?” Dean asked, an hour into the silent drive.

“I could hardly forget,” Cas said with a smile. “I believe you shot and stabbed me, then I knocked Bobby out.”

“It’s a hell of a first date,” Dean laughed. “I’ll never forget it.”

“And Purgatory,” Cas said softly. “You searched for me for a year.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you. What about when the Antichrist turned you into a doll?”

“It was unpleasant,” Cas agreed. “Though not as unpleasant as eating one of the Biggerson’s burgers.”

Dean shuddered.

“I like to pretend that everything that happened with Dick was just a dream. Well, not all dick,” Dean grinned mischievously, and Cas chuckled.

“We’ve had some fun over the years, huh?” Dean asked with a smile. “I mean, we nearly died a few times, but there were good times too.”

“Yes,” Cas replied. “There were.”

Dean drove the next few hours with his hand entwined with Cas’, the moonlight glimmering off the black hood of the Impala in the darkness. Right before dawn, he pulled up onto a gravel path, and parked beside a large, vacant field, stretching as far as he could see. Dean wordlessly helped Cas out of the car. Together, they dug for the blanket in the trunk, which Cas insisted on carrying. Dean reluctantly let him, and held his arm to help him slowly amble out into the field.

Dean took the blanket and spread it open in the grass just as the sun was peeking over the horizon.

“I couldn’t do much about the colors of the hospital room, but I think you’ll enjoy the view,” he said, and Cas perked up a bit.

Dean wrapped his arm around Cas’ shoulders and kissed him lightly on the cheek. The sun crept higher and higher into the sky until Cas could see where he and Dean were sitting.

“Oh,” he breathed out.

Dean had brought him to a field filled with flowers of every imaginable type. Long, purple flowers reached for the suns first light, while stubby yellow dandelions littered the ground, and bright pink and blue bell-shaped flowers curved downward.

“This is perfect,” Cas said, and he slowly reached one wavering hand to cup Dean’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“I wish I could do more,” Dean said, and his grip tightened on Cas.

“Dean,” Cas said, and he turned to look into Dean’s eyes. “I do not have much time.”

“I know.”

“I will wait for you in Heaven,” Cas said sadly.

He shakily pulled Dean’s weathered handgun out from his waist band with slow, painful movements. 

“But please, do not make me suffer.”

“Cas, I can’t,” Dean said, shaking his head wildly at him.

“I would rather go with love than by a simple human ailment. I would never ask this of you if I thought there was another way. But I cannot do it myself.”

“I can’t hurt you,” Dean replied.

“This disease is hurting me. You would only be helping.”

Cas pressed the gun into Dean’s hands, and he hesitantly took it. He met Cas’ hopeful gaze; he wasn’t scared. He was smiling.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Dean said softly.

“This is only temporary, and I will be waiting for you. But do not be in a hurry. I love you."

Dean rested his head lightly against Cas'.

"I love you too."

Cas kissed Dean gently, then leaned back on the blanket to stare at the sky, breathing in the scent of the flowers surrounding them.

Dean took in the sight of Cas’ trembling body, shaking from head to toe. He placed his hand on Cas’ face once more before drawing it back to himself.

“You better be waiting, or I’ll tear all of Heaven apart to find you,” Dean said, a sad laugh escaping his body.

“Nothing could keep me away,” Cas answered.

Dean nodded his head, and swallowed, his own hands shaking now.

“Close your eyes.”

Cas took a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand and the light of the sun on his face, smelling the scent of the air, and taking a long, lingering view of Dean’s bright green eyes. Then he exhaled and closed his eyes.

Dean felt the click of the gun more than he heard it, and for a moment, the world stopped. He hadn’t realized he had shut his own eyes. He carefully opened them.

Cas was still. His soft hands rested peacefully at his sides, one cupped around a bright white daisy, thumb carefully pressed over the center as if feeling the bumps and ridges. Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Cas’ beautiful face, marred by the damage he was sure he had created. Instead, he focused on Cas’ extraordinary hands, perfectly still at last. Dean stared until his eyes began to burn and his vision blurred from the heat of his tears. He glanced down at the gun in his hand.

Absentmindedly, Dean noted that his gun was down to only one round. He nodded to himself, quiet in the field of flowers and bugs. He was surrounded by colors.


End file.
